When 'Real' is Not Enough
by SkyLark89
Summary: One-shots, set after the last lines of pre-epilogue "Mockingjay." Katniss finally realizes how important Peeta is to her. Fluffy.
1. Said and Unsaid

**Title: **"When 'Real' is Not Enough"  
><strong>Summary: <strong>One-shots set after the last lines of _Mockingjay_, pre-epilogue. Katniss finally realizes how important Peeta is to her.  
><strong>Rating: <strong>T  
><strong>Length: <strong>Five parts, approx. 10,000 words  
><strong>AN: **Here's what I like to think happened after the last lines of pre-epilogue _Mockingjay_. If you're like me and like to read fluff in which Peeta gets the happy ending (and nice girlfriend) he deserves, read on. This is my first FanFic.  
><strong>Disclaimer: <strong>I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

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><p><em>So after, when he whispers, "You love me, real or not real?"<em>

_I tell him, "Real."_

But it isn't enough, not nearly. "I do love you," I say, turning to face him. _So much_.

Even in the dark, I can see Peeta's smile and his eyes looking into mine. I reach over, find his hand and interlace our fingers. I lift it to my face and softly kiss the back of it.

"And," I continue, feeling like there is so much to say and so much that I should have said long ago, "I want you to know how sorry I am that it took me so long to say it -"

"Katniss -" he tries to interrupt.

"No," I say, "you need to hear this." _If not for your sake then for mine_, I think. "Peeta, for as long as I can remember, I've told myself that I would never get married because…well, you know."

Peeta nods, intent on listening now that I've insisted.

"And after I was convinced that it… that love… _this_ kind of love was never going to be a part of my life, it was hard to change my way of thinking." Ugh. Could I be any more awkward? One would think that those interviews, and the training for them, would have helped me learn to articulate my thoughts and say them aloud, but no. It's just as difficult to express myself as it was before my first trip to the Capitol. I decide to plow ahead, though.

"But now, looking back on it, I think I've loved you all along. I mean, not as long as you've loved me, but since the Games." _Since I realized that I didn't want to go home without you,_ I add silently to myself. "And I felt something for you even before that. I remember when Effie called your name and you came up onto the stage. All I could think was, _not him_."

I sit up and turn on the lamp on my nightstand. Peeta sits up halfway. He quickly uses his free hand to arrange his pillow against the headboard so he can lean back against it. "Really? That's what you thought?" he asks with a smile.

I nod, then proceed. "You've done so much for me and -"

"You've done plenty for me, too," he says. Peeta reaches up and brushes a stray lock of hair out of my face. "Katniss, you don't need to be sorry about anything. You brought me to the cave and got me the medicine, you wanted me to win the Quell, and wouldn't give up on me when we were on the mission -"

I shake my head and lean forward, pressing his hand to my forehead and hiding my face from his view. "How can you be so understanding?"

"I love you," he says, as if that is the only explanation needed. Maybe it is, but I still can't forget how upset I got this morning when I started imagining how I would have felt if Peeta had treated me the way I treated him.

* * *

><p>Peeta was still asleep, in what I now consider to be <em>our<em> bed, when I got dressed and sneaked out at the crack of dawn to go hunting. He's usually an early riser, too, but we'd been up late talking the previous night and I'm sure he was tired. I was too, but still I'd woken up at my usual hour. Sleeping in was a luxury I'd not been able to accept just yet.

I went down the stairs and outside, to the log where I still keep my bow. I don't need to hide it anymore, but there doesn't seem to be any reason _not_ to keep it in the log. It's just a habit.

I silently made my way through the woods, looking and listening for game, but it was hard to focus. I kept thinking of Peeta, asleep in the Victor's Village. I found myself wishing I'd stayed home this morning and kissed him awake instead of sneaking out. I feel that way more and more every day. I still love my morning hunts and the soothing way they clear my head, but I would rather be with Peeta. In fact, I would rather be with him than anywhere else in the world. But it would have been irrational to go back at that point, when I was dressed and out already. And we did need meat for dinner.

I kept walking around but also kept thinking of him. When I'd finally accepted how much I needed him, it was so easy, so wonderfully easy. I'd asked him to stay one night, a few weeks after he planted the primroses, and he'd agreed almost immediately. In spite of everything, he still loved me more than I deserved to be loved.

My mind continued to wander and I thought of Gale. I still miss him sometimes when I hunt, but never wish he was here in Twelve. I'm glad he's in Two, with a new life. I thought about that time I tried to imagine how I would have felt if Gale and some other girl had been reaped and they had to pretend to be in love during the Hunger Games and get engaged afterward. I decided to do the same thing with Peeta, now.

How would I have felt if there were no Gale and if I wasn't afraid of the consequences of marriage? If I was desperately in love with Peeta during the Games and had loved him since he gave me the bread, perhaps. If he seemed to return my love but then told me, during the train trip home, that he wasn't sure how he felt. If there was some pretty merchant girl who he was friends with and cared for. If, no matter how kind and loving and selfless I was with him, he was cool and reserved toward me.

I heard the footsteps of what sounded like a couple of small animals running away from me, and realized that I'd suddenly begun to cry audibly. I found a log and sat down on it, burying my face in my hands. The scenario I'd imagined was horrible, unbearable. How could Peeta stand it? How could he stand telling me, on the train during the victory tour, that his nightmares were only about losing me and seeing my cold, uncomfortable reaction? How could he stand having to ask if I would _allow_ him to wish he could freeze that moment on the Training Center roof and live in it forever? And I can hardly bear to think of the way I treated him after he was hijacked.

I needed to see him and do something. Even though he seemed happy enough these days, I'd made myself so upset that I couldn't imagine he didn't feel the same way. _Maybe we can each just have an extra cheese bun for dinner instead of meat_, I thought as I began running back home, _or maybe I can come back out again later_.

By the time I got back to my house, I'd calmed down a bit and had stopped crying, but I still burst urgently through the back door and into the kitchen. Peeta was there, making breakfast. His hair was still wet from a shower. His face lit up when he saw me.

"Hey, back already?"

I couldn't speak, all I could do was rush over to him and throw my arms around his neck. I'd been trying to think of what to say on the way home, but I was still too upset to come up with anything other than "I'm so glad you're here." _Here in Twelve, here in my house, here in my life_.

I felt his arms encircle me, warm and gentle and safe. "Me too," he said sweetly, burying his face in my hair.

All day I tried to be extra nice to him and do whatever he wanted. That meant a walk into town, a picnic in the backyard and letting him draw me. We worked on the book in the evening, after dinner, and then went up to bed. When I felt his arms make their way around me in the dark, I sighed with relief. I don't know what I would do without him. But tonight, his embrace wasn't enough, so I leaned over and began to kiss him. And I got that feeling again, like that night in the Quell.

* * *

><p>Now, I look up at him. He sees my distressed expression and worry washes over his face. <em>No! <em>I didn't want to make him feel bad all over again.

"Katniss, I know you love me," he says. "You don't have to explain anything to prove it to me."

"I haven't done a very good job at showing you, not the way you have with me -"

Peeta shakes his head and reaches for me with his free arm. I finally let go of his hand and lean forward, resting my head and both hands against his chest. He strokes my hair and caresses my back.

"You have," he says, then pauses and I feel him take a deep breath. "It would have been so easy for you to give up on me, to let me go, after the Quell. I know you cared about Gale and it would have been easy for you to be with him and forget all about me."

"I could _never_ have forgotten you," I say with urgency.

"Exactly," Peeta says, and I can hear a smile in his voice. "Even after I hurt you, you still wanted to be with me and help me."

_Not enough_, I think, _I wasn't nearly as understanding as you would have been if I'd been hijacked_. But I remain silent, letting him have his turn to talk.

"Even when I told you I was still a danger to you and asked to be left behind, you wouldn't do it. You kissed me instead." His arms tighten around me as he remembers this. "And now, every day we spend together, that's what matters. The past doesn't matter, it doesn't even exist, really." Peeta cups my face in his hands and lifts my chin so we're eye to eye. "All that matters is waking up next to you every morning and creating new, good memories to replace the bad, false ones. Every day it gets easier and better because of you. Because we're together now."

I feel tears spilling down my cheeks and Peeta gently reaches up to wipe them away. He pulls me toward him and presses his lips to mine for a moment, then says, "I have everything I've ever wanted, Katniss. It's like none of the rest of it even happened." I know he's only referring to what happened between us, because he still has flashbacks, as a result of his hijacking. I've seen them.

He kisses me again and I wrap my arms around his neck._ I love you_, I want to say, but I can't bring myself to pull my lips away from his.


	2. Nightmare

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

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><p>My eyes flutter open in the darkness. The shift in our bed was minimal, but it still managed to wake me from my restless sleep. I don't think I was always such a light sleeper. Prim used to get out of our bed regularly during the night and I wouldn't know until I woke up. But now, even in sleep I notice the absence of Peeta's arms around me, when he rolls over, or even a change in his breathing from the peaceful, steady breaths that mean he's asleep to the irregular, tormented ones that signal he's woken from a nightmare. Any and all of these things can awaken me. It's the same with him. Sometimes I wake up in terror, and try to calm myself down by cuddling just a little closer to him. It's so hard for the both of us to get a good night's sleep that I don't want to deliberately wake Peeta up so he can comfort me, even though I know he wouldn't mind. But he always knows somehow, when I need comforting, even if I haven't cried out and made my terror obvious. Perhaps we've just become incredibly attuned to one another.<p>

The moon must be full or nearly full, because there seems to be more light in the room than usual. I look over and see Peeta's silhouette. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to me. It's not a cold night, but he's shivering and leaned forward, probably with his head in his hands.

"Peeta?" I say softly, and he starts and sits up straighter, but doesn't turn to me. I wait a few seconds, then sit up and scoot across the bed to the edge where he is. I reach out and place my hands on his back. He jolts as if I've shocked him and I wonder if maybe I should just leave him alone, but then he sighs and I feel the shivering subside. I lean forward and press my cheek against him, between his shoulder blades.

After what seems like an eternity, he says, "I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

I gently shake my head against him, "Don't be sorry. You should always wake me if you're upset." How can he apologize when it was unintentional, and he's so obviously having a hard time? His selfless concern for me reminds me of when we were in the arena during the Quarter Quell and his heart stopped. After Finnick resuscitated Peeta and he saw me crying, he actually looked worried about _me_. It was absurd, when he was the one who'd just died.

Peeta starts to turn and I pull away from him so we can face each other. He takes both of my hands in his and looks down as he softly strokes the backs of them with his thumbs. He seems very focused and I can see his troubled expression start to fade. He once told me that his nightmares were usually about losing me and everything would be all right once he woke up to find me next to him, but this clearly isn't the case anymore. This nightmare must have been a result of what was done to him in the Capitol, not during the Games.

I can hardly bear to see him like this and think of him suffering alone. "Promise," I insist, "promise you'll wake me when this happens."

Peeta's eyes raise to mine and he hesitates, then says, "I…promise I'll wake you if I need you."

I'm about to protest about the way he amended my request before agreeing to it, when he speaks again.

"I don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep tonight," he says, his brow furrowed, "I'm going to go downstairs and draw, or read or something."

"I'll come with you," I say.

Peeta shakes his head, his lips tightly pressed together. "You should sleep."

I give him a small smile and squeeze his hands. "I can't sleep without you here."

Peeta's beautiful blue eyes widen and he says, "I'll stay, then."

I let out a sound of exasperation: half-laugh, half-sigh. "_No_. I'll come with you. I don't mind. I mean, unless you want to be alone or something."

"No, I always want to be with you," he tells me, then leans forward and presses his lips to mine for just a second.

"Let's go, then."

Peeta gives me the sweetest, most adoring smile, then he lets go of my left hand and we make our way out of the bedroom. I can completely understand his desire to get out of there. Sometimes the nightmares are so frequent and disturbing that I find it hard to stay in bed. I try not to associate the bedroom with nightmares, but it's hard not to, when it's the only place where I have them.

When we reach the bottom of the stairs, Peeta starts to head into the living room but I remain rooted to the floor. "How about some hot chocolate?" I ask.

"That sounds good," Peeta says, turning to face the kitchen, "I can get it."

I smile, place my hands on Peeta's shoulders and look into his eyes. "Peeta," I say.

He stares down at me, both quizzical and amused, "Yeah?"

"You just let me take care of you for a while."

I can tell by his chuckle that he remembers when he said these same words to me in the cave during the Games. I'm thrilled to have been able to say something to improve his mood, even if it's only for a second.

"All right, Katniss."

Despite my protestations that he should wait in the living room where he can be comfy, Peeta follows me into the kitchen. He sits at the table and watches as I prepare the hot chocolate. When it's finished, I join Peeta at the table and pass him a steaming mug. Like me, he wraps both of his hands around it. I stare down at the dark beverage. "Prim liked hot chocolate a lot. I guess that's one of the good things that came out of winning. It was nice to see her have a few extra things like this, things all kids should have."

When Peeta reaches out and takes one of my hands in his, pulling it off of my mug so he can hold it, I realize my voice had started to shake. I take a deep breath and look into Peeta's loving and sympathetic eyes. "Remember the first time we had it?" I ask, in an attempt to distract myself so I don't start crying about Prim.

He smiles and nods. "On the train on the way to the Capitol."

I nod, and then we sit in silence for a couple of minutes, sipping and blowing on our hot drinks. "Do you want to talk about it? What happened just now upstairs, your nightmare?"

Peeta shakes his head and looks upset again, causing me to regret reminding him of it. "It had to do with you. You don't want to know."

"If it'll make you feel better to say it out loud, then I do want to know."

Peeta gives me a look that seems to ask if I'm sure, and I smile encouragingly in response.

"Well, I was dreaming about what would have happened if they - in Thirteen, I mean - had allowed you come into my room alone the first time we saw each other, after the hijacking," he breaks off, searching my face for a signal to stop.

I nod slowly, keeping my eyes on him in hopes that it will show him I don't want to shy away from this topic.

"And in the dream," he continues, "I had no control over myself at all, while I... killed you. It was like I was just watching the whole thing from outside my body."

_Oh, no_. No wonder he didn't want to wake me after an experience like that. No wonder he was startled when I said his name and touched him. I've come to trust him completely, but with a nightmare like that so fresh in his mind I'm sure he was afraid for me. Peeta raises a hand to his face and leans his forehead on it as a look of distress comes over him.

I lean forward, so he can see me better with his averted eyes, and say, "I know you would never hurt me now."

He still looks worried but manages to smile and nod as he says, "I wouldn't. I _couldn't_."

I reach forward and smooth some hair back from Peeta's face. "Does it help to talk about it?" I ask.

Peeta seems to consider my question, then says, "I think so, as long as it doesn't scare you."

"It doesn't scare me at all," I say with conviction. My memory of our reunion after his imprisonment and hijacking will always be with me, but I'm over it. I don't mind talking about it, if it can help Peeta to cope with things.

He looks so incredibly relieved over what I've just said that I find myself wishing we'd broached the subject before. Did he really think I was still afraid of him, on some level? I hope none of my actions have given him a reason to.

We finish our hot chocolate and I put the mugs in the sink, while Peeta heads into the living room. When I join him on the sofa, his arm finds its way around me and I lie my head against his shoulder. His other arm reaches for my leg, which is mostly bare. I'm wearing a tiny pair of shorts, so he's able to run his hand almost all along it before he reaches any clothing. When he does, his hand travels back down toward my knee.

"You're so beautiful," he says, "I still can't believe how lucky I am."

I lift my head and turn my face toward Peeta. "I'm lucky," I tell him. I think of Haymitch's words. Was it a thousand lifetimes that he said I could live and not deserve Peeta?

"The girl with the game," he says softly.

I raise my eyebrows and can't help letting out a laugh. "What?"

"Oh," Peeta says, as if he didn't realize he'd spoken those words aloud, "that's what I would call you sometimes, in my head."

"Are you kidding me?"

He's confused by my reaction and says, "Only sometimes. Actually, more often, I would think of you as the love of my life."

"I don't mind either nickname," I assure him. "It's just funny because…I always thought of you as the boy with the bread."

"Really," Peeta says, smiling, "before the Games?"

"Before…and during, and after, too," I admit.

He pulls me close and kisses my temple, then says softly, "Maybe we're more alike than I thought."

I nod slightly, loving the feel of his lips against my skin.

"Peeta," I say.

"Hmm?" he says, between soft kisses.

"I know you first noticed me when I sang that song," I say, "but what held your interest for so many years?" I'm not fishing for compliments, I am genuinely curious. Peeta was plenty attractive, reasonably well-off, and had many friends. I've never really understood what could have been so special about me. Why I was the only girl who made a lasting impression on him.

"Everything," he says, giving me a squeeze. When I remain silent, he continues, "Even though I didn't know you really, I loved everything I knew about you. You were so independent and brave. I could hardly believe it when you started showing up at our back door with meat, when you and I were so young. I really admired you for it. I don't think I would have been able to feed my family like that when I was twelve."

"You could have, if you'd _had_ to," I say, honestly believing it.

"I don't know, Katniss," Peeta says with a smile, "you know how loud I am when I walk."

He's made me laugh again, and I love him for it. Every time I feel happy as a result of anything Peeta says or does, it makes me adore him even more. I lean forward and kiss him. He pulls me onto his lap so we're directly facing each other. Peeta slides one hand up the nape of my neck, and softly runs his fingers through my hair. His other hand goes up the back of my shirt and gently pulls me even closer to him, eliminating the small space between us.

Both of my hands cup his face, as my mouth moves with his. We spend a few minutes like this before we wind up lying down on the couch, side by side, facing each other. Peeta's lips travel from mine across my cheek and then to my neck.

I feel completely relaxed, and tired again. I can tell by how slowly he's moving that he's calmed down and is ready to get some more sleep, too.

"I love you," I say. This causes Peeta to pull away so he can look at me, through heavy-lidded eyes, and touch his forehead to mine.

He smiles and says, "I love you."

Peeta lies back and I rest my head on his chest. There's just enough room for him to be on his back and for me to be sideways, tucked safely between him and the back of the couch. It's not long before we fall asleep again. This time, his arms remain around me until morning.


	3. Storm

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

* * *

><p>I open my eyes and gently pull away from Peeta. He stirs a little, but doesn't wake up as I climb out of bed and silently walk over to one of the windows in our room. The sky is still a bit dark, but I can see that there are storm clouds in the distance. It's been raining for the past couple of days, but without much thunder and lightning. I haven't been able to go out for my morning hunts and have really missed them. I don't think those clouds will get here too soon; maybe I'll be fine if I hurry. I need to try, I've been stuck inside for too long. I need some fresh air and exercise.<p>

I quietly put some clothes on and then head toward the door. I don't want to wake Peeta, but can't resist placing a soft kiss on his cheek before I leave the room, closing the door behind me. I think it's Saturday, and he tends to sleep in a bit more than usual on the weekends, when he doesn't have to start baking. Maybe I can even get back before he wakes up.

I pull on my boots and jacket, grab my game bag, then head out. I tell myself that the clouds haven't gotten closer at all in the time it took to reach the log where I keep my bow, in the woods near where I used live. I have plenty of time.

I shoot and collect a rabbit and two squirrels before I hear the first clap of thunder. I'd become so focused on the hunt that I forgot all about the weather around me. But this noise makes me jolt. The woods are usually so silent and it's startling to hear a loud, out of place sound.

I look around and realize the wind has started to blow quite fast. Was it windy at all when I left this morning? I don't think so. I look up into the sky and see that the storm clouds are now directly overhead. _Okay, now it's time to go home_. Out of habit, I start heading for the log where I keep my bow, now realizing just how far away from it, and deep into the woods, I'd gone. I've just tucked the bow inside when the rain hits. It's an instant downpour and I have to hold my free hand (the one that's not keeping the game bag slung over my shoulder) over my eyes so they don't get rained in and prevent me from seeing. More thunder resounds all around me and I start to feel a bit nervous being outside.

Normally, I walk around the edge of town to reach the section of woods I usually hunt in. But I think I should go through town now, and see if I can find some place to wait for the storm to end. But most of the shops don't even open on the weekends, now that there are so few residents of District Twelve. No one really minds doing their shopping during the week. I don't usually even come through town on weekends, and I have to struggle to remember if there are any places that might be open. The produce store, maybe, but what time is it? I don't think they open this early. Still, I make my way toward it, glad for the shelter the awning outside provides. It looks dark inside, but I try the handle. Locked.

By this time my clothes are completely soaked through and the wind has picked up even more. I'm just thinking I need to bite the bullet and make a run for home when the door to Sae's soup shop next door opens.

"Come in," she says, her face concerned as it takes in the sight of me.

I turn toward her, immensely relieved. I'd forgotten she lives above the shop now. "Oh," I say, surprised to see someone, "thank you." I don't waste any time getting inside. I sit at a table and Sae quickly brings me a bowl of soup. "What were you doing out there?" she asks.

"I -" suddenly I feel foolish for staying out so long. I should have been paying closer attention to the weather, but I was just so glad to be hunting again. I should have noticed the clouds getting closer, before it started to storm, and gone home. "I was hunting," I say.

"In this weather?" Sae says, "were you planning to pick up some drowned animals?"

I shake my head, smiling at her joke, "No. It wasn't like this when I left."

"Hmm," Sae says.

The worst of the storm passes. There's no more thunder and lighting, and the rain has slowed to a drizzle when I decide I can head home. It seems like Sae and I have been talking for a while, but I don't think it's been too long. I give her one of the squirrels I shot, as thanks for the soup and shelter. She says it doesn't seem like a fair trade for me, but I insist that there are always more squirrels, and then leave.

I walk home at a brisk pace, eager to get back to Peeta, and hoping he hasn't worried about me. My hair and clothes start getting wetter again and I'm really starting to get cold by the time I finally reach my house. I step up onto the porch and am just reaching for the doorknob when the door quickly swings inwards.

Peeta's there, his eyes wide and his face a mixture of relief and anger. He reaches out and his arms close around me, lifting me up and pulling me inside. He's holding me very tightly and it's hard to breathe.

"Peeta," I say, and my strain must be evident in my voice, because his arms loosen, but just a little. His lips are softly brushing against my neck.

"I was so worried," I hear and feel him say, before he sets me down and pulls away to look at me. "Where were you? How could you have gone out in that?" He doesn't even give me a chance to answer before his mouth is on mine. In spite of my wet, windblown hair and clothes I start to feel warm already. I wrap my arms around his neck and start to feel a tingling and tensing in my upper back, but then he abruptly pulls away.

His gaze is calmer than the one he greeted me with, but still full of distress. "You have to be more careful, Katniss," he says, placing his hands on my upper arms, just below my shoulders. Suddenly he looks afraid. "I can't lose you."

I reach up and place both my hands on his face. "You won't."

Peeta shakes his head. "I was so worried," he says again, "I woke up from the thunder and you were gone and it looked so bad out there. I just kept hoping you weren't some kind of human lighting rod."

I start to smile, but stop myself. There's nothing funny about it, really. People do get struck by lightning, and after all we've been through it's understandable for Peeta to be quick to worry about me. "I'm not," I say, "I'm fine."

Peeta starts to touch my wet hair as he stares at me, still trying to accept the fact that I'm safe. "What took you so long to get back?"

"I went into town, so I could find some place to wait for the storm to end, and Sae was there. She let me into the shop," I say.

I see Peeta's tense shoulders relax a bit. "Why didn't you call me?"

"You know she doesn't have a phone," I say.

"Well, from the grocery store, then…oh, they were still closed."

I nod. "I'm sorry you were worried. I shouldn't have gone out at all. But I really wanted to, after the last couple of days."

"I understand," Peeta says, "I just wish I would have known you were with Sae. The not knowing was the worst part."

"Of course," I say, "I won't go out again if it looks like it might storm, I'll be more careful. It's not like we'd starve without the meat."

"Good," Peeta says, and finally it seems like all the tension is gone from his face. He leans in and kisses me again for a few seconds, then pulls back away. "I love you so much," he says. Then he takes a deep breath, sighs softly and smiles. "You must be freezing."

I look down at my wet clothes, having forgotten all about them while we were talking. "I am," I say. Peeta goes to the linen closet and gets a towel. I slip out of my boots, then take my jacket off and hang it up to dry. The shirt underneath isn't so wet. I pull the tie out of my braid and when Peeta gets back with the towel he starts to run it over my hair and squeeze the rainwater out. "I don't think this towel is good enough, you're really wet," he says.

I look up at him and that see he's smiling just a little. Before I have time to say a word, he's scooped me up in his arms and is heading for the stairs. "Hey!" I say, more out of surprise than protest.

"You can't keep these wet clothes on," he says. And he sounds so serious that I can't help laughing a little. We reach our bedroom and then he carries me into the adjoining bathroom and sets me on my feet in front of him. He pulls my shirt off me, and the rest of my clothes follow. Then he gets a new towel and wraps it around my shoulders first before proceeding to gently run it over my chest and stomach and then downwards over the rest of me. He's taking longer than he needs to, but I let him. I'm not even self-conscious about him seeing my scars anymore.

Eventually, he throws the towel aside and then just stares at me, taking in every inch from my legs up to my face. When his eyes finally meet mine, he smiles. "Okay, I'll get you a change of clothes," he says, then turns to leave, and I know he's teasing me. But two can play at that game. I remain rooted to where I'm standing and cross my arms over my chest.

Peeta must have expected me to stop him, though, because he turns back just before he's out the door. "Unless you'd rather take a shower?"

"Shower, definitely," I say, "I'm cold." And, with that, he steps back toward me again.


	4. Tokens

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

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><p>"Don't leave," I say, reaching out for him. He's already at the front door, his hand on the knob, poised to turn it. But he's never resisted when I want to hug him, not since we got back to District Twelve, anyway. Peeta smiles and takes a few steps toward me, then his arms are around me. I'm not sure if he'll ever get used to this, if he hasn't yet. Sometimes he seems casual about us, and the way we are with each other now. But other times, it's obvious that he can hardly believe I want him as much as I do.<p>

I hate it when I take his hand or wrap my arms around him and I can feel that he's surprised. I thought we were past that point. I thought he knew how much I love him and need him. I try to remind him as often as I can, but I suppose only time will convince him that we're going to stay together. He'll have to believe it when he sees it.

He softly kisses my cheek and then my neck, then I feel his lips near my ear and he whispers, "I'll be back soon, I just have to get some clothes."

"Well, can't you do laundry here?" I ask.

Peeta pulls back, taking my hands in his and still smiling. "I'll be back in ten minutes," he says.

I realize how silly I'm being, trying to insist he stay. It's not as if we're never apart, we both spend plenty of time alone, when I'm hunting or he's baking. But somehow, I just don't like it when he goes back to his house. It reminds me of the time between when we moved to the Victor's Village and the Quarter Quell. I was here, with my mother and Prim, still spending time with Gale and even kissing him. While Peeta was over in his house, alone, wanting nothing more than to be with me. I don't like thinking of those days, after I admitted I was partly pretending during the Games, because I know how hard they were for him. I love him too much to think of him like that.

I know, of course, that being separated from me during that time is nothing compared to the torture and hijacking. It's nothing compared to when he had that horrible infection before I found him during the Games, or compared to when he lost his leg. And while I feel varying levels of responsibility for all of those events which caused him harm, it's somehow worse to think of the general time when I didn't know how much I needed him. Because I know I am _completely_ responsible for his being hurt in that way, by being deprived of me. Because I was too set in my ways and too unwilling to change.

"Why don't you just keep all your things here?" I blurt out, without really even thinking.

Peeta looks surprised and I try to reassure him by tightly wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head against his chest. I feel his hands tentatively come to rest on my back. "You mean," he says, "everything?"

I don't know why I never asked him to move in before, maybe I was still subconsciously dragging my feet. Just being me…the me who hurt him before in a thousand ways. "Yes," I say, "you might as well." I realize those might not be the right words, so I add, "I want you here, with me, always."

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><p>It turns out that Peeta doesn't have very many possessions. I don't know what I expected, but when we go over to his house together to begin packing, I'm surprised by how barren it seems. It makes sense, though. His family may have been more well off than anyone in the Seam, but they still weren't wealthy, so he didn't bring much when he moved to the Victor's Village. Nor did he have much interest in acquiring many things afterward.<p>

"This is it?" I say, looking around at the minimally furnished living room.

"You've been here before," Peeta says, "don't you remember?"

It's true, of course, but I've probably only been to his house a couple of times since we came back to Twelve, not recently, and I guess I wasn't paying much attention. The same goes for when I came over here before the Quell, I suppose.

"I guess not," I say. "Well…if I'd realized this was all you had, I would have asked you to move in sooner."

I'm glad when Peeta laughs a little at my pathetic attempt at levity. I'm glad he's able to find humor in the fact that I've taken an inexcusably long time to invite him to move in with me. It makes me sad being here and I want to hurry up and pack his things so we can leave, but Peeta doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry. In fact, I think he's having fun as he assembles some boxes and begins taking them up to his room. I follow him and together we empty out his closet and dresser, placing everything in the boxes.

I'm just finishing up with the top drawer of his dresser when I see something small and dark pushed toward the back. I reach in and pull it out, instantly knowing what it is and where it must have come from, but hardly able to believe it. I hold the small black point in my hand and turn toward Peeta.

"What's this?" I say, smiling a little.

Peeta lowers his eyes and smiles sheepishly, then chuckles. "Oh," he says, "I forgot that was in there." He comes toward me and takes it out of my hand, turning it over in his and examining it. "I got it out of one of the squirrels you brought to trade with my father."

I don't remember ever leaving an arrowhead in a squirrel, but why would I remember something like that? It must have been an accident, a weak arrow that broke when I tried to take it out of the squirrel. "When?" I ask, watching Peeta as he fidgets with the arrowhead.

"I'm not sure exactly," he says, "a couple of years ago." He looks lost in thought as he tries to remember, then he speaks again. "I think we were fourteen."

"And you kept it all this time?"

Peeta smiles at me and shrugs, then tosses the arrowhead back into the now empty dresser drawer. "I guess I don't need it anymore," he says, closing the drawer.

I'm reminded of the pearl he gave me during the Quell. I remember treasuring it when I was in Thirteen, and Peeta was in the Capitol. I even brushed it across my lips a couple of times, in an attempt to feel closer to Peeta while he was out of my reach. I wonder just how important this arrowhead was to him. I wonder if he ever carried it around. I doubt he ever touched it to his lips, but who knows?

I still have the pearl. I keep it in a box on my dresser, and sometimes I look at it or touch it. After it became so important to me, it was hard to stop liking it and associating it with Peeta. I can't help thinking that he might feel the same way about this arrowhead and just not want to admit it.

I open the dresser drawer again and take the arrowhead back out, holding it in my hand. It feels hard and severe and it used to be dangerous; it's so different from the pearl, which is soft and smooth and light. "We should keep it," I say. I don't want him to feel embarrassed for having it, and as if he has to hide it in this dresser, which we've decided to leave here in the soon-to-be empty house.

"I have _you_ now," Peeta says, leaning down to kiss me.

It's strange to think that he was keeping this little token of me for years. He had it for a long time before I knew how he felt about me, and for a long time before I loved him back. I gently pull away from him and walk over to a full box. I place the arrowhead inside and then tuck the edges together.

"I know the perfect place we can keep it," I tell Peeta, walking back over to the dresser where he still stands. "You know my inlaid box that my mother sent me?"

Peeta nods, and I reach out, winding my arms around the back of his neck. His hands find their way to my waist and I look up into his eyes.

"We can keep it there. It's where I keep the pearl you gave me."

Peeta smiles. "I didn't know you still had that," he says.

"I carried it with me when we were apart," I tell him, sliding a hand forward and stroking his cheek with my thumb. "I kept it because I love you." He kisses my forehead. "I'm sorry you had to wait longer for me."

Peeta smiles. "You don't have to be sorry, I told you it doesn't matter anymore. Nothing matters but now." And with that, we resume packing.

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><p>When Peeta's placed the last of his clothes into my spare dresser, I let myself fall back onto the bed. Moving his things was by no means strenuous, but I feel exhausted for some reason. Maybe because it's getting late and, as always, I was up early this morning. I roll onto my side and prop my head up on my hand. Peeta turns to face me.<p>

"Happy?" I ask.

"Yes," he says, smiling again, "you?"

"Yes," I tell him, "more than I thought I could be."

He comes over to the bed and sits near the top of it. I scoot up and rest my head on his lap and he runs his hand over my hair, then down my braid, picking it up and brushing his thumb across the loose hairs at the end of it. I reach out and take his hand, holding it in both of mine. I love it. I love all of him so much.

"You know," I say tentatively, "there's only one thing left to do, now."

"What's that?" he asks.

I'm surprised he doesn't know what I mean. I assume he's thought about it before, but maybe not. Maybe he didn't think it would happen for a long time. Maybe he thought I wasn't ready and he was willing to wait, and didn't dare to hope.

I sit up and slide my legs off the edge of the bed, so we're sitting side by side, both of our feet on the floor. "Well…we _are_ still engaged, aren't we?" I hope I haven't done the wrong thing, mentioning our forced engagement.

I see comprehension dawning on Peeta's face and for a second he looks surprised, but then he quickly smiles. "Yes. If you want to be."

"I do," I tell him, and even I am surprised by the certainty in my voice.

"Now?" he asks, referring to the toasting.

"If you want," I say, "or tomorrow or the next day. But soon."

"I'm kind of tired right now," he says.

But I know what he really means. The toasting shouldn't be something that we just do on impulse, which is what it would be at the moment. We've been engaged long enough, sure, but it needs to be more special that it would be right now. We need to be prepared and alert (so that we'll be able to remember it perfectly), neither of which we are at this time.

Peeta leans over and kisses me softly, his lips gently moving with mine in a way that makes me feel even sleepier. He pulls back to look into my eyes. "Soon," he says.


	5. Fire and Bread

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _The Hunger Games_.

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><p>"Peeta?" I call out, "I've been thinking we should -" but when I reach the kitchen, I stop speaking and come to a standstill.<p>

Peeta's there, clutching the back of one of the chairs, his eyes squeezed shut, and his body rigid. _Oh, no_. He hasn't had a flashback in a while, weeks maybe. And I'd foolishly hoped they might stop. I know it doesn't help to do anything during; I learned that the hard way. So I stay where I am, waiting for it to be over so that I can go to him and do what I can, which isn't much.

After what seems an eternity, but realistically couldn't be more than a minute or so, I see him start to relax. Slowly at first, his white-knuckle grip on the chair loosens, his back straightens a little, and then he raises his head and eventually opens his eyes to look at me. He looks so sad I can't stand it. I rush over to Peeta and he lifts his hands from the chair and wraps his arms tightly around me, leaning forward so that his chin rests on my shoulder. I run one of my hands up and down over his back and the other gently squeezes the back of his neck.

"It's okay," I say softly, trying to sound as consoling as I possibly can, "It's okay, Peeta, it's over." I turn and press my lips into his cheek.

I feel him nod as he continues to return to the present, then he pulls away enough to look at me. His eyes are wide as they stare into mine, and I feel his hands tightly gripping my shoulders. He always does this after the flashbacks. I don't know if it's to reassure himself that I'm all right, or if seeing me has the ability to anchor him to reality somehow, like the handcuffs used to. I've never asked, because it's obvious he doesn't like to talk about the flashbacks. I don't know if they'll ever stop, but they happen less frequently all the time so I'm hopeful. We both are, I think.

He raises one of his hands and rests it on my head, then runs it back over my braided hair as his hard stare keeps softening. I smile up at him and eventually he manages to smile back. We stand there silently for a bit, and then he speaks.

"What were you saying before?"

"Oh," I say. I'd completely forgotten why I came into the room. "I was thinking that we've been neglecting Haymitch, and maybe we should go see him."

"You just want to tell him about the toasting," Peeta says, grinning.

I laugh and a part of me wonders if he's right. Besides each other, Haymitch is the closest thing either of us have to a family, as strange as it feels to admit that. Sure, my mother sent me a present for my eighteenth birthday and she's called a couple of times, but I never see her and hardly ever think of her.

"I don't know why I would," I say, "I can't imagine I'll like whatever he has to say about it."

"Let's go now," Peeta says, taking my hand in his.

"You're okay?" I ask.

Peeta nods, and I can't help thinking it's strange that he seems to be able to return to complete normalcy so quickly after his episodes. But I suppose it makes sense, in a way. Once they're over, they're over. "I'm okay as long as I have you," he says with a smile. We walk, hand in hand, to Haymitch's house and have to knock several times before we hear him staggering to the door. It swings open and he's standing there, hunched forward.

"Oh, it's you," he says with a smirk.

"Who were you expecting?" Peeta asks.

"You," Haymitch says. He shows us into the kitchen, the cleanest room in his house, and we all sit at the table. He quickly picks up his bottle and takes a swig. "I appreciate it," Haymitch says, "being checked up on. But you do realize I managed just fine for twenty-four years without you two, right?" _Right. He's been managing just fine…_

"Actually, Katniss wants to tell you something," Peeta says, obviously trying not to laugh. Why is he teasing me like this? Ugh. This is almost as bad as that time in the elevator before the Quell when he laughed about how Finnick, Johanna and Chaff were acting because of my 'purity.'

"What?" Haymitch asks, looking over at me. "Don't tell me it's boy trouble."

"Um," I say, stalling.

"We're going to have a toasting," Peeta says.

"Oh," Haymitch says, turning to him, "well, I have plans, so…"

I smirk and shake my head. He knows perfectly well that the toasting isn't done with an audience; everyone knows that. Unless, maybe he thinks we expect him to sing the traditional wedding song to us...but we've decided to skip that part, anyway. It's supposed to be done while we cross the threshold of our home, but since Peeta and I already live together it wouldn't have much meaning. And there's no one to sing to us, either.

"We didn't even tell you when," Peeta points out, with a smile.

"Whenever," Haymitch says. He thinks for a moment, then turns to me again, "I have two words for you, can you guess what they are?"

I know I'm wrong, he's not this kind, but I guess, "Congratulations, Sweetheart?"

Haymitch laughs. "No," he says, "_Lucky you_."

I feel my smile fade. "I know I am," I say.

"About time," Haymitch says, taking another sip of his drink.

I feel a little guilty again, but when I look over at Peeta and see how amused he is by this whole thing, I relax and return his smile.

"Don't let me keep you, then," Haymitch says with a dismissive wave. He often does this, pretending he doesn't want us around. I know it's just a ruse, though. We all stand up and Haymitch sees Peeta and I to the door, even though I know it must be hard for him, in his state of drunkenness.

When Peeta and I are out on the porch, we turn back and say goodnight.

"Goodnight," Haymitch says, and I almost think that the smile he gives us is a genuine one; a smile of approval and maybe even congratulations.

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><p>"So…" I say, once we're home and door is closed behind us.<p>

Peeta smiles and lets go of my hand. "You start the fire," he says, "I'll get the bread." He disappears into the kitchen and I get a box of matches from the closet. I rearrange the logs in the fireplace and sit in front of it, waiting for Peeta. I look over and see him come into the living room, a small loaf of bread in his hands. "I baked it special," he tells me, sitting down next to me.

I nod and smile, then light the fire. While we're waiting for it grow, Peeta hands me the bread and I examine it. The bread is filled with raisins and nuts and as I break into it, I feel tears gathering in my eyes. "This is just like -" But looking at Peeta, and seeing his knowing smile, makes me stop speaking.

"I know," he says, "I hope you liked it, before."

I wipe the back of my hand over my eyes and stare down at the hearty bread. It's just like the bread that he burned and then threw to me, when we were eleven years-old. I haven't had raisin and nut bread since then. Peeta knows how much I love the cheese buns and we usually eat those. Sometimes we have plain white bread, too, with things spread on it. But he's never given me bread like _this_ since that day.

"I did, it was the best thing I'd ever tasted," I say, raising my eyes to his. "I can't believe you remember." I know what he's going to say.

"I remember everything about you," Peeta tells me, still smiling. _Of course_.

I raise the bread to my face and gently touch my lips to it. It looks and smells delicious. I break it apart further, until it's in two pieces, and hand them to Peeta. He stabs the fire poker into both pieces, then holds the metal handle and sticks the impaled bread into the fireplace. I watch his face as he experiments with where he should let the bread hover so it doesn't take forever to toast, but doesn't burn too much, either. Without even thinking about it, I slide closer to him, winding my arm around his and resting my head against his shoulder. But it's not enough, so I look at him again, then lean in and kiss his cheek, then his jaw, then his neck.

Peeta pulls the bread out of the fire and rests the back of the poker on the ground, the so the bread sits, impaled, in front of us. I reach out and gently press my hand against the side of his face, turning it toward me, but Peeta pulls back.

"Wait," he says, with a chuckle. Then he kisses my forehead. "I want to do this right," he tells me, and I know he's right. We should wait.

Peeta reaches out, touches the bread and, content that it's cooled enough, pulls it off the poker and hands a piece to me. "For you," he says.

I pull away from him a little, and we turn to face each other directly. He takes his toasted bread off the poker and holds it. We interlace the fingers of our free hands, then begin to eat the bread, slowly at first, looking at each other the whole time and smiling as we chew.

I find myself thinking of everything that's happened between Peeta and I so far. When he threw me the bread, when I saw him at school the next day with the welt on his face, and then saw the first dandelion of spring. I remember seeing him come up onto the stage when his name was drawn during the reaping, and being saddened that it was him who was chosen. Talking to him on the roof of the Training Center. Our time in the cave, seeing him on the stage in the Capitol after the Games and kissing him. I think of dancing with Peeta on our Victory Tour, and his proposal in the Capitol. I remember kissing him during the Quell and getting that feeling that I never got with Gale, that I know I could never have with anyone but Peeta.

I remember the first time I willingly touched him after the Quell, after the hijacking. I smoothed the hair back from his face and reminded him that he and I always protect each other. I remember kissing him with the hope that it would bring him back to me.

Seeing him for the first time after we got back to District Twelve, the first time I told him I loved him, moving his things in and agreeing to this toasting, and…now. Then there's now. Because I will always remember this moment, too. I wonder if Peeta is remembering all of these things, also, but I don't ask him. I don't want to speak yet, I just want to keep eating.

The bread is delicious and warm and we finish eating almost simultaneously, having methodically taken each bite together. Once my bread is gone, I only have to wait a few seconds to see Peeta swallow the last of his.

"Now?" I ask, smiling at him.

He smiles back, then reaches his arms out for me. "Now," he says.

I lean into him with enough force to push him backward, so we're both lying down on the floor, and the whole length of my body is pressed into him. I feel his arms around me, holding tightly, and I place my hands on both sides of his face. I look into his beautiful blue eyes and slowly move my face toward his. But this time, it's Peeta who is impatient and he lifts his head hastily so that his lips meet mine. We've kissed so many times that I didn't think it was possible for there to be any surprises anymore. It was always nice to kiss Peeta, whether it was for show or not. Even before I could admit to myself how much I really cared for him, I liked it. And of course I loved that other feeling he gave me, which was rare at first, but now happens all the time.

But somehow, this kiss is different, still. I've never felt quite like this before. It's more than nice, it's more than hunger eliciting. It's wonderful and perfect and I know it's a preview of what is to come. I know that this is what the rest of my life with Peeta, my husband, will be like.

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><p><strong>The End<strong>

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><p><strong>AN: **Thanks for reading!


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